


Dark Wings

by Zhangers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, post season five
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhangers/pseuds/Zhangers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The Lord of Winterfell reminds Lord Umber of the vows he swore, and bids that he return Lady Stark to her rightful place.”<br/>Sansa plucked the letter from the Greatjon’s hand and read quickly.<br/>The writing was small and tight, neatly slanted with a little flourish on the tails. Underneath it was a signature that was at once familiar in form and strange beyond belief in content.<br/>Petyr Baelish, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. </p><p>---<br/>Sansa Stark escapes from Winterfell and finds a friend in the Greatjon. But House Umber cannot hide her forever. Soon, a raven comes from the new warden of the north. Soon after, he sends his men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Such a Little, Innocent Thing

“My lady, are you sure?”

The fires had burned low, the castle was noiseless, and Sansa could imagine that she and Brienne were the only souls still awake. On the table to her left was a flagon of spiced wine, now drunk to its last cold dregs, and beside that was the little slip of parchment. This little scrap had sent the hold into a mad frenzy and robbed Sansa of sleep for four nights. 

It was such a little, innocent looking thing, she thought, to have caused such disquiet. 

Dark wings, dark words, as her mother used to say.

To be fair to the raven, much of the disquiet had come from the soldiers that had arrived at the gate some days after it had done so. That the soldiers had come so soon after the request suggested that the new Lord of Winterfell had not expected a favourable reply, that he had, in fact, sent the bird after he had sent his men.  
She wondered why he had bothered in the first place, if he intended to send his men after her regardless of her reply. Perhaps it brought him enjoyment, to think of her reading it many miles away, oblivious of the surprise that was waiting for her. She wondered how she reacted, in his mind. Did she tremble out of fear? Or was she stirred by some other emotion? Were her eyes wide, her lips parted and wet in excitement? It was hard to think that he would send an army just to escort her willingly home. Somewhere deep inside him, far beneath the grey-green of his eyes, he must expect her to refuse. But then, perhaps the shiny-plated Vale bannermen were more boast than threat. He could be as childish as any man, when the mood came upon him. She remembered the wine and the kisses in the Eyrie. These toys of his were new to him still. 

In any case, whatever they were, they were here. All arranged in neat formation outside the holdfast walls, waiting for her to emerge out of the gate. 

“Lord Umber has rallied his fighters,” continued Brienne, drawing closer to the fire so that its flames lit the side of her rough, earnest face. “He would defend you, to the last man, if you asked it of him.”  
Sansa shook her head. 

“The Umbers cannot fight all the might of the Vale on their own.”

“There are only fifty men outside the walls, and every Umber man is worth two of them.”  
Littlefinger had kept most of forces garrisoned at Winterfell to protect his claim by conquest, such as it was, but the men outside the gate still outnumbered the Umbers three to one. Besides, the Vale soldiers had not been on winter rations for the past three moons. Sansa wished that battles were to be won on cause and reason and honour; instead, they were won by blood and steel and numbers. Once, Littlefinger had only dealt in numbers. Now, so many advantages were his, where none were hers. 

She could not fight him. She had to choose the other way. 

“They cannot win.

“Maybe not, but they can fight. We can make our escape in the confusion. We can dress you as a squire. We’ll cut your hair and change your clothes. No one will know you. Lord Umber and his men are more than willing to die for the last true blood of the north.”

“He doesn’t need to die. That wouldn’t help anyone, me least of all. We can’t just slip away, he will send men looking for me wherever I am. His men have hounds as well as horses. ”  
The Greatjon was a good and loyal man. To lose him in a hopeless battle just for this hopeless, foolish attempt would be a terrible waste, especially when Sansa could put him to much better use. 

“You can’t trust Littlefinger’s word. His reputation –“

“I don’t need you to tell me about Littlefinger. I know what he is better than anyone.”

Sansa hoped that this was true. She had presumed to know him once before. Much had happened since then, none of it good for her, and all of it good for him. But she could not forget what she had seen in his eyes that day in the snow. She had seen something in the unsmiling grey-green, something that he had not intended. Despite himself, she had glimpsed a little of Petyr Baelish’s true colors, beneath the layers. She had to remember who he was, and what he wanted. What he truly wanted. 

“There is nothing more to discuss. It is the only way. You should go to bed, Brienne. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Brienne left her chambers like a dog that had been unfairly kicked, with her head bent and her broad shoulders drawn low.

Sansa climbed into bed and lay awake by the dim light of the dying embers. Her thoughts one after another, crashing like waves, each more uncertain and confused than the last. He had not taught her about this part, about the doubt and the fear that came with his way of doing things, of guessing and guessing again. She let her mind sink beneath the churning thoughts, and then deeper, to sleep. 

The morning came, grey and cold and sombre. She broke her fast with the Greatjon and thanked him for all his troubleson behalf of the name Stark. From Theon she wrought one last promise that he would remember himself. 

Then, with her back straight and her head as high as she could manage, Sansa let herself, Brienne and Podrick out of the gates and into the army of men bearing the proud falcon of Arryn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my way of trying to rationalise how exactly show-verse Littlefinger is going to pull this whole Warden of the North thing off. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please post a comment if you liked it - or even if you didn't!
> 
> We'll be going home to Winterfell next, to see what birds, great and small, have taken up roost.


	2. At Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The falcons fly over Winterfell and pick at the bones of the flayed man. The Warden of the North has a lot to say for himself, but Sansa is not sure she believes the half of it.

The bloody wretch no longer hung over the turrets of Winterfell, but the sight did not bring Sansa as much enjoyment as she had expected. Instead, there flew the same proud bird that caged herself, Brienne and Podrick in blue and silver. She had half-expected to find smaller birds there instead, fluttering lightly on the wind against their field of green, but she supposed he would hardly have let them loose with the falcons nesting all around. As for the wolf, she was not such a fool as that.    

The flayed man was missing from more than just the banners. Ramsay’s collection had been removed from their place of honour in the yard, and the stone beneath them had been scrubbed bright. It was only the memory of blood that stung her nostrils.  

There were heads on spikes above the wall, but these were new ones. Roose’s was a blank, pale mask. He looked as if he was merely resting his eyes and might at any moment open them to gaze icily down at her. Walda was rather worse for wear. Her flesh was ruddy and had already begun to sag and bloat. Sansa felt a twinge of sorrow for fat, jolly Walda and her unborn infant, but it did not last.   

She did not have long to look for Ramsay among the rest.

 A voice called out to her from somewhere across the yard.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

He looked different. He had added a thick collar of silvered fur to his black cloak, and it matched the spreading grey wings at his temples. There were new lines on his face: fine crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and straight, deep lines over his brow. War was tiring work, she supposed, even if you did not fight the battles yourself.

But the biggest change of all was something altogether more subtle, and may have lain unnoticed by less discerning eyes.

He stood on the parapet, high above the yard, commanding a view of the gate. There was something in the way his back curved, and the way his hand dangled rather carelessly over the railing as he descended. He looked as if his tendons had been slackened just a little, as if a drop of grease had been added to his joints. He looked to all the world as if he belonged to this, and as if all this belonged to him.

In short, he looked at home.

Two knights followed behind. The first was Yohn Royce, who smiled and bowed. The second was a stranger: a handsome, fair-haired young man. He did not smile, though he jerked his head and swept his eyes over Sansa’s figure from head to toe and back up again.

Around her, the falcons began to dismount in a flurry of cloaks and clanking armour, and Podrick was soon at her side. His services were not required, however. The new Lord of Winterfell took hold of her horse’s reins and offered her a slim hand gloved in soft doeskin.

It was impossible not to take it.

“Thank you, Lord Baelish, for your welcome.”

This was her second time welcomed to her own home by a stranger who claimed it as theirs. The practiced words stuck a little at her throat.

“It is good to see again, and looking so well.”

The words were concerned and kind, and the grip on her chin was soft as it tilted her face up towards his own. There was nothing soft about his gaze, however. It searched and pressed, trying to take in as much of her as he could.

Somewhere just behind her, she heard Brienne’s stepping in close with a clanking of armour.

Littlefinger had heard it too. His eyes narrowed, and he released Sansa. His fingers grazed her cheek as he did so, and seemed to linger by the ends of her hair.

“Lady Brienne. What a surprise to see you again, and at Lady Sansa’s side. As I recall, she rejected your services when last we met.”

“Brienne has served me well, my lord,” explained Sansa. She had anticipated a little trouble of this kind. “She protected me when – when others did not. I owe her my life.”

“Yes, I have heard some stories.”

She wondered what other stories he had heard, and who had told them.

“Of course, you will be rewarded for your service, Lady Brienne. I would have you anointed with the seven oils, if I could. But, alas! I can only pay for it in plainspeaking gold. A thousand gold dragons would not be an insult, I hope.”

“I don’t want any of your gold, Lord Baelish,” spat Brienne, who had never learned to hold onto to her outrage. “I counselled my Lady against this. If it were up to me, she would be among her own people, and safe. Not in the company of invaders and captors.”

There was a rancorous noise from the flock of gathered falcons.

“Her own people? I am her uncle by marriage. As for invaders and captors - these are all her aunt’s men, and friends of her father’s. I assure you, no one cares more for Lady Sansa’s safety in all the seven kingdoms.”

“Indeed,” added Lord Royce, indignantly. “We are all Lady Sansa’s friends and allies here.”

Sansa heard Brienne’s rush of answering breath, and put a stop to it before more damage could be done.

“I am rather tired, my lords. It was a long, hard journey, and the captain kept us riding from dawn to dusk. I would like to rest and eat, now that I am home again.”

“I told him to make haste. It was safer not to tarry on the road. You never know who you might meet there. Come, my lady, I will have the servants draw you a hot bath to wash the journey away.”

Sansa only nodded and let Littlefinger pass her along to a wiry, grey-haired serving woman who had suddenly appeared at her elbow.

“This way if you please, m’lady.”

The woman was a stranger, and she spoke with a strange, lilting accent. She led Sansa down the familiar corridors. For a moment, Sansa was afraid that they would end in the chamber that she had shared with Ramsay, but they turned left instead of right, and she was shown instead into the rooms that had belonged to her mother and father.

“My Lord wanted you to be comfortable,” said the serving woman by way of explanation. “These rooms are the warmest in the castle, we’re told.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

Her mother had liked her rooms to be very warm, even hot. Sansa remembered visiting her in the evenings as a girl, and sweating underneath her heavy clothes as she listened to the stories, until she could not stand it anymore and peeled them off to lie on top of the furs in nothing but a thin linen shift.

Sansa looked around, searching for she knew not what. Had she expected to find a stray tunic of close-cut brocade with golden thread, or spare boots of fine calfskin warming before the fire? That would be telling.

In front of the fire was a large tub, and laid out on the bed was a new dress of fine dark wool.

More strange-faced servants came along, bearing cauldrons of steaming water. When the tub had been filled, Sansa let the old woman help her out of her clothes.

“I’m afraid they’re too torn and muddied to mend, my lady. We should cut them into rags. My Lord has had new things made for you, from fine cloth brought all the way across the Narrow Sea.”

“I can see that,” said Sansa.

She saw an ornate wooden chest that her mother had never owned, and peeping out of it were things that glittered in the firelight and would be sumptuous and soft to the touch. She recalled the feather bed in her cabin in the belly of the ship that had brought her out of King’s Landing. He was a creature of comfort and details, even in such circumstances.

She slipped into the steaming water. It scalded and smelled of exotic oils.  

“Shall I wash your hair, m’lady?”

“No, you may go.”

Sansa tried not to think of Myranda, who had washed her body before her wedding night, and had had landed far below with a wet, splattering sound. 

The strange woman curtseyed out of the room. Sansa scrub the dirt from her skin with the soft rag. She rubbed her skin with the soft rag until it was pink and smarting and her thoughts had turned clear. Then she climbed out of the tub and stood before the crackling fire until she was dry and  beginning to almost burn. She put on the dress herself with a difficulty. The laces were at the back, and it had been cut to her old measurements. It was rather tight over the bosom, but perhaps that was not such a bad thing. She wore her hair into the simple braided style that her mother had favoured.  

The servants appeared again with her supper on trays.

Not a moment after the last dish was set down, he appeared at her doorway.

He knocked and lingered for a moment in the open doorway, half in and half out, his face half-hidden in the shadows.

“May I?”

“Can I stop you?”

It was only half a jest, but he smiled at it anyway and closed the door behind him. She imagined she heard the lock click into place.

“I thought you would prefer to the solitude. The dining halls are rather boisterous these days. The Vale is still celebrating its first great victory in this war, and might continue until the ale runs out. There will be a proper feast to honour your return, just as soon as my supplies come through White Harbour. For now, I suppose we will have to content ourselves with this – “

He helped himself to the second chair, the second goblet and the second trencher at the table.

“- mutton stew, I believe. With turnips and onions.”

He made a face and lifted a piece of meat with his spoon, prodding at the soft, sinewy mess.

“I suppose it is to be expected. This hold has been at war for far too long, and winter is coming, as they say.”

“Winter has already come, Lord Baelish.”

“Petyr. I’ve told you – you must call me Petyr.”

“Winter has come, Petyr, since we saw each other last. A lot has happened since then.”

“Yes, it has.”

A closed look came over his face. He filled his goblet with dark red wine as he waited for her to speak first.. Sansa toyed with the idea of staying silent, but that was no way to begin.

“Why did you send your men after me?”

The obvious was not always such a bad place to start.  

“Why? Because this is where you belong. Because there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. Isn’t that another northern saying?”

He reached over and splashed the red into her goblet too.

“You sent fifty men just to escort me home?”

“As I told you, the roads are not safe these days. Best to be a little cautious, especially with such a precious cargo.”

Sansa sipped the wine. It was heavy and full. It lent her a little courage.

“Am I to be your prisoner?”’

She had expected the bluntness of her question to ruffle him a little, perhaps uncurve his lips and make the brows pinch together. But his expression did not alter, and his answer was as smooth as silk.  

“Why ever would you think that, my lady?”

Sansa could almost have laughed, if the circumstances were not so very grave.

“You have taken my home as your own. You send an army to capture me. What am I supposed to think?”

“It was the Boltons who took your home from you. I am only taking it back. Surely your new husband has not made you grow fond of the family that butchered yours?”

Sansa’s felt the heat rising up her neck, and her lips begin to tremble with the effort of holding back her words.

Littlefinger watched her closely, unblinkingly.

 “Look at you,” he said, in a voice barely above a rasping whisper. “Such anger. This is a new development.”

“You might be angry too, if you had been wed to such a monster.”

She did not get the apology she expected, not even a false one.

“I had heard some rumours,” he said, instead. “So they are true? Did he hurt you, sweetling? Is that why you ran away? I confess, it troubled me greatly to capture this castle at last, only to find you missing, your fate seemingly unknown. Roose Bolton was rather tight-lipped on the matter. I believed he was genuine in his ignorance, at the end. Was I right or wrong to have given up so quickly?”

Sansa thought of the flaying cross. Surely not. He always kept his hands so clean.

“He didn’t know. Nobody knew. It was an escape, that is how they are managed.”

“And you managed it all on your own?”

Sansa had her answer prepared.

“Nobody knows Winterfell better than I do, and I had Brienne to help me. Why did you capture Winterfell? You didn’t take it just to rescue me from the husband you chose in the first place.”

It was hard to keep the accusation out her voice. If he noticed, he did not address it.

“Why do you think?”

It was a return to their old games, the ones they shared in secluded rooms in the Eyrie, spoken in quiet voices. He wanted to play. Sansa obliged him almost out of habit.

“You want to make an alliance between the north and the Vale. You had already done that – you arranged the marriage to accomplish it. But you couldn’t trust the Boltons.”

“Who in the Kingdoms can, after what they have done?”

“But what about the Lannisters? Surely they wouldn’t let you take half the Kingdom without their consent. You could hardly hide a thing like this from them. A whole army, marching north behind their backs?”

“Who said anything about going behind their backs?”

“Warden of the North,” whispered Sansa. “They gave you that title. In return for what?”

“What do you think?”

There was a dreadful pause. Littlefinger sipped at his wine and smiled. The corners of his mouth were stained with red.  

“What do you intend to do with me, Lord Baelish?”

Sansa fixed him with a level gaze that did not match what she felt. Deep and low in her belly, something was beginning to twist. Perhaps she had made a terrible mistake about him, about what he wanted after all.

“My orders came directly from the Queen Regent. She still wants justice for her son.”

“You’re going to send me back to King’s Landing?”

“No, she didn’t want you. She only wanted your head, on a spike. She was very specific about that.”

Sansa’s hand closed convulsively over the handle of the carving knife. Littlefinger’s eyes flickered to it. A little crease appeared between his eyebrows.

“You don’t think I would do it, do you, Sansa? I am saddened that you have such little trust in me, after all we have been through together. I have rescued you from the lion’s den. I have brought you home. I have given you back the north. Those are the actions of a friend, I hope.”

She could almost believe that he was truly hurt by her words.

 “How have you given me the north?  If it is mine, why do I find you call yourself Lord of Winterfell?”

“It’s a temporary arrangement. We will have you restored as Lady Winterfell in good time.”

“If I marry you?”

Her brazenness had paid off. He paused, his slips slightly parted, and his eyes filled with green fire.  She thought, for the fleetest of moments, that they were close to speaking truths to one another.

But the moment passed.

“No, sweetling, you will marry Robin Arryn. The falcons did not come here for high honour alone. They will trade you half the north in return for half the Vale. Then, before the winter is done, they will see Robin seated on the Iron Throne. You will be a Queen, just as you always wanted.”

It seemed such a long time ago when she dreamt of being Queen. Sansa ignored this sweetmeat that he dangled so temptingly in front of her.

“What about the Lannisters? When they hear of this –“

“What about the Lannisters? Toothless, clawless and maneless, with a withering rose as their only ally.”

“I thought the Tyrells were your friends.”

Had they not murdered a king together?

“So they were. And if they bend the knee, they will remain so. I hope they will. It is good to have friends in warm places.”

“And what about you? You’ll lose everything. The Lannisters gave you your titles. You’ll lose Harrenhal, and the Riverlands. If I marry Robyn like you say, I’ll become Lady of the Vale, and of the North. You’ll have nothing left. You’ll be back where you started. No – you’ll be worse off than you started. You won’t even have a place at the council. You’ll be banished from King’s Landing, and your – businesses will go to ruin. They put a price on your head. Your defenders are men whose loyalty can be bought, and no one pays more than a Lannister. You’d risk all this – for what?”

“Yes, I’ll lose all the boons they have granted. But what was I ever truly given? I never had Harrenhal, only the name. Who would really want that cursed, mouldering ruin? It costs more than it makes. The riverlands are a lawless wilderness that will take a whole army to bring into order. It is a troublesome, thankless endeavour fit only for fools. As for the Vale, those proud Lords and Ladies would not have let me hold it for much longer. A grasping little lord from the smallest of the Fingers, with all the Vale under his command? They would have my ward married out from underneath me, and then poor Sweetrobin will meet an end as untimely as his mother’s. And after that? The crown will send the last unspent army in some expensive, bloody battle that may buy the Lannisters a few more months on the throne at best. Meanwhile, winter deepens, granaries are emptied, and men drop like falling snow. No, this way is better. This way, all will profit. Why fight the greater foe when he would be your ally just as easily? Why defend the indefensible, when your efforts are better spent elsewhere? Men are so concerned by what they might lose that they do not see what they might gain instead. They are so blinded by the familiar path that they cannot see the fairer one.”

Sansa’s mind spun as she tried to make sense of everything. He was offering so much – too much. She must not be dazzled. She must remember what mattered.

“You still haven’t answered me – what do you gain out of all this? Where is your profit?”

“The gratitude of my new friends is all I ask. The new King and Queen may see it fit to reward me, in time.”

He filled her cup again. Sansa drank deeply. She was not sure she believed the half of it. No. She was sure she did not.

“What reward? What would be worth all this?”

“I’m sure you will think of something.”

A smile spread over his thin face. Then he dabbed the red from the corners of his mouth and rose from his chair.

“I’m afraid I must beg leave, my lady. There are many trifling matters that require the Warden of the North, temporary though the position may be. Rest well, sweetling.”

And Sansa was alone with her meal and her thoughts.

\-----------

The fire had been piled so high that Sansa sweated even beneath her shift of Qartheen silk. A northerner would never have built a fire that way. Firewood should not go to waste like this, especially at the start of a long winter.   

There was a heavy knock on the door, of an iron gauntlet on solid oak.

“Come in, Brienne.”

“He has men watching the corridor,” said Brienne with a scowl. “Did you know that? They lurk in the shadows and pretend as if they have business there.”

She looked offended, as if the pretence was worse than the threat.

“Of course he does, he would be a fool not to. I have a reputation now for escaping, after all. Come and sit by the fire – you should take your armour off, or you’ll roast.”

“Is that a good idea, my lady?”

 “I’m safe here, in the way you mean. Besides, there’s little enough you could do against all of these men. Don’t say you would die trying, that doesn’t help me.”

The words had already begun to form, and Brienne closed her mouth, looking a little affronted.

“You can’t just take armour off on a whim, you know, my Lady,” she said instead.

She chose a corner as far away as the fireplace as she could, and leaned against the stone wall with a great clanking of steel.

“What did he want, my lady? Did he try to harm you, in any way? Or do anything else to you?”

Brienne’s face was earnest and opne.  She thought of all those anointed knights in King’s landing, the ones that had beaten her and the ones that had watched. Once, she had been fond of shining armour and white cloaks. Now she knew what made a true knight, and what did not, and there seemed to be so few true knights left in the world. How odd it was to find one in this hulking, graceless woman.

“No, he didn’t try anything. As for what he wanted – why, he only wanted to give me the seven kingdoms.

A smile twisted at Sansa’s lips, and she twisted the loose ends of her hair around her fingers as she thought.

“He would say anything to make you trust him. You mustn’t let him charm his way back into your good graces.

“I don’t trust him. And I know what he wants in return.”

“What is that?”

“What he has always wanted: everything.”

She left Brienne with the puzzle. She had more pressing concerns.

“Brienne, I want you do to something for me.”

“Anything, my lady. Just say the word.”

“I want you to make peace with the Vale soldiers. More than that – I want you to make friends of them.”

“What? They were our captors. Have you forgotten the indignities of the road?”

She had not forgotten. The Captain would not let her out of his sight. She slept with men on the other side of the canvas, drinking and laughing through the night, her name often on their lips. She could not make water in the woods without a grinning soldier leering at her from across the shrubbery. By his orders or no, they had not been as polite with her as they should with the rightful Lady of Winterfell. She remembered all their names and faces.

“You swore you would do anything for me. This is better than dying. Take Littlefinger’s gold. Drink and eat with the Vale men and make friends among the loosest tongues. Tell Podrick to do the same with the squires and stable boys. I need eyes and ears where I can’t go. This place is already full of his people. I can’t win if I don’t have my own. ”

It was no sure thing that she could even if she matched him eye for eye and ear for ear. But she had to begin somewhere. She would not have chosen Brienne and Podrick for this task, except out of need. Perhaps if she were to be very careful, and he were to grow very careless.

“I hardly think they will welcome me with open arms. But I will try, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to stand guard tonight? I could sleep outside your door, just to make sure.”

“No, get a good night’s rest. You will need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two book-verse cameo characters in this chapter, hiding between the lines. We may see more of them. 
> 
> Toothless, clawless, maneless was intended as a reference to the recent losses within the Lannister family. It also makes a great house motto, updated for our times. 
> 
> Next chapter we’ll be hunting in the woods and learning from the Baelish School of Warfare. War is not simply arithmetic…except when it is. I’m hoping it will be shorter chapter, with less dialogue and more action. Phew, this was a lot of talking. 
> 
> As always, please drop me a comment if you liked it. Or even if you didn’t! I love to get feedback from readers.  
> -Zhangers


End file.
